Closed for Business
by alchemyfreak42
Summary: Harry Potter is the Master of Death. This roughly translates to 'Hotel Manager.' So, when several billion people come flooding in and not a single one of them has a reservation set up, he's understandably annoyed. His decision? Kick them all to the curb and figure out just who's messing up his schedule.


**So, sorry, but I just realized that once again, Murphy's Law has taken out its vendetta against me in the form of missing line breaks. You'll probably find my semi-amusing substitutes down below, because apparently plus signs just don't cut it anymore. **

**On a side note, if I can get it rolling, I'll consider a second shot from the Avengers' view, but I need to say: that has a lot of potential for -shudder- emotions in it. I mean, be real. It does. So, what would y'all even **_**want**_** from a second chapter? More cracky goodness or some real shit? A mix? **

**Let me know in the reviews, and though I can make no promises I can do my best. AN added 6/3/19**

THIS'LL BE THE FIRST OF SEVERAL NOT-QUITE-LINE-BREAKS

"Um, excuse me, I don't quite know what's going on?" The young woman smiles nervously at the concierge and shifts from foot to foot. "Can you tell me where I am?"

"Of course." The gentleman behind the desk adjusts his old-fashioned glasses, the thick lenses reflecting the bright lights. "You're at our hotel. May I have your name?"

She blinks in surprise, glancing around uncertainly- it does, admittedly, look like a hotel, even if the lobby would be more fitting in a palace. The lobby is enormous, with dozens of people milling about aimlessly and more walking in through the automatic doors. How can she possibly afford _this_ place?

"Miss?"

She blinks back at the concierge, startled. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't understand how I _got_ here. I was getting ready for work just a few minutes ago."

"I'm afraid I don't know any of the particulars of your case, but I can set up an appointment with the manager if you like. You can get settled into your room for now and I can call up as soon as he has an opening."

That- didn't answer any of her questions, but fine. "Yeah. I think I need to lay down. My name is Liz Frank."

The gentleman- she finally notices the shiny metal nametag labeled 'Joe'- types away at the computer in front of him for a moment before he frowns and looks back up at her. "I'm not seeing your reservation; is there another name the it might be under?"

"Elizabeth, maybe?"

Joe turns away once more, typing it in. His frown intensifies.

She squirms, uncomfortable with the fatherly disapproval he's radiating at her, but before he can say anything else about the matter they're interrupted.

"What is this place? Have I been drugged?" A woman with bleach blonde hair has pushed her way through the growing crowd and is looking at Joe like he's told her she's wearing too much makeup and she's used the wrong skin tone for it, too. He hasn't, though- he's probably too polite for that sort of thing, Liz thinks. She's proved correct when Joe just smiles politely.

"This is a hotel, ma'am. I'll be with you just as soon as I finish with this young lady." His voice almost doesn't carry over the growing crowd, but it manages all the same.

The woman looks at Liz, with her sweat pants and a Disney t-shirt, like she's crawled out of the sewer. Liz could honestly care less- she has no clue what's going on here, either, but it's a hotel and she (hopefully) has a reservation that someone made for her, which means she can get a decent nap.

"Fine, then." Blondie taps her foot impatiently on the ground, looking around unhappily. "But I would appreciate it if you were quick. I have children at home."

Oh.

Liz winces in sudden sympathy- maybe the lady's more stressed than she is just a bitch.

…well, probably not, but still.

Joe turns back to her- and there's the look of heavy disapproval again, damnit. It's not like it's _Liz's_ fault her name's not in his computer. "You're much too early to be checking in to your room right now. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the manager to see you."

What?

"Don't worry, he'll get everything taken care of," Joe assures her, before he turns back to the bleach blonde to begin the next step in customer service. Liz doesn't envy him.

Liz pushes her way over to a cluster of chairs, taking a deep breath when she finally reaches them- only to growl in frustration when she finds they're all taken. It's not a surprise, to be fair- there's hardly even enough room to stand in the lobby at this point, and the few employees are running about urgently, trying to keep people from going into hysterics.

They aren't successful- several people shout suddenly, and someone nearby calls out, "Let me through, I'm a doctor!"

The crowd parts before him, people squishing aside to let him through to a groaning woman being lowered to the ground by the people next to her.

It looks like this is happening all over the place- children are crying, men are shouting, women are screaming. Seriously, what the hell is this place, to have so many people who don't even know where they are?

The doctor kneels at the woman's side and grabs her wrist, presses against it- frowns. He reaches to her neck and stares, bewildered, at the woman.

"What's going on? I don't remember-" the lady asks, breaking down into sobs halfway through.

"I have no clue," the doctor admits. Liz thinks that was the wrong thing to say, but the man is staring, bewildered, at the woman he's helping.

"What's wrong, doctor?" A young man nearby asks.

The doctor shakes his head slowly and says, "She doesn't have a pulse."

The crowd breaks out into yelling, shouting- some are crying that it's witchcraft; others are saying the aliens have trapped them in an alternate reality-

"_QUIET! _I have had _enough!_" A guy who looks like he's in his early twenties at best is _radiating_ aggravation and stress, tugging angrily at his hair as he shouts at them all. "You people do _not_ have reservations, and we aren't equipped to deal with crowds of this level. As such, you are all free to go; we will be in touch soon with those who _do_ have reservations for today. Now kindly _get out of my lobby._"

The crowd stands, shocked into silence, for a moment before a few people start migrating towards the exits. Liz turns to follow, the feeling that _yes, she should leave the hotel_, enveloping her.

"But how do we get home? We don't even know where we are!" Someone shouts- her steps falter. She hadn't thought about that.

"The same way you got here," The young man says, his green eyes flashing angrily. "Through the door!"

That's not an answer, but the crowds are moving anyway and Liz never wanted to be here in the first place.

She goes.

BECAUSE APPARENTLY MY FORMATTING SCREWED UP

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Elise shakes her head fuzzily as her eyes clear. She's back in her apartment, with all two of her friend group staring at her, bewildered. "Huh?"

Jordan snorts in disbelief and shakes his head, laughing so hard he's doubled over, and Sky is laughing almost as hard.

"You just- you- you went _poof!"_ He howls with laughter, "Because Ryan asked how you lost your virginity!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Elise asks, laughing. She's still trying to get her head on straight, after that weird hotel thing.

Oh, right- it's game night and she's hosting, which is why the pizza is pineapple and ham instead of pepperoni. Her friends think its gross, but they're ignorant savages who must be educated. Either they can start liking pineapple or she'll get a lot more pizza- it's a win-win scenario.

"Those fucking animes were _right_!" Sky gasps out, and then the two of them are off again, howling like the lunatics they are. Even Elise is starting to chuckle, because Sky has pulled out her phone to play _Dust in the Wind_ and is bright red with mirth- when suddenly her breath freezes in her throat.

She's falling apart.

Not psychologically, though she is anyway because it's finals week, but physically. Her entire left hand is gone, and she discovers that her feet have followed suit because she's falling- she doesn't have time to hit the ground, though.

The last thing she hears is the melancholy sound of Kansas singing _"All we are is dust in the wind."_

I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THAT

Thanos smiles grimly to himself, satisfied that he has completed the task that had not quite been completed in his first attempt. Irritating, but ultimately not something he would concern himself over. It was beneath him to worry about it when he had, in the end, succeeded.

It doesn't matter that something has forced all the people he has killed- even the ones who fell in battle- back to life. It doesn't matter that something is attempting to stymie him as he imposes his will on the universe. What does matter is that he has succeeded.

He is the mightiest being in existence.

Having killed all who would oppose him, he has earned that title, and it is right.

His sacrifices have all been worth it- his favorite daughter, Gamora- he will mourn her, in time, but he will never regret his actions. They were necessary to balance the universe and to prove to Death that he is worthy.

If he were a lesser man, he would think that perhaps Death has been rejecting his courting gifts.

Why else would these puny humans be reconstructing themselves again?

BUT ALL I CAN REALLY DO

Bucky shakes his head violently. "What the fuck?"

"Buck-" Steve chokes out, his face chalk-white and covered in grime. "You just- turned into dust."

"_That's_ never happened before," he says, poking at himself. He seems perfectly solid. Steve gapes at him and he shrugs. "What? It _hasn't."_

Probably. Maybe. Okay, he's got no way of actually knowing, but he _hopes_ he hasn't. They take another moment to stare at each other, bewildered, until Steve's face twists up and he lets out an enormous sneeze.

"Sorry," Steve mutters, rubbing at his nose, "Allergies."

Bucky lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Really? That fancy serum fixed your heart, but not the fact that you sneeze as much as you breathe every spring?"

Steve shrugs, and then he's grimacing again just as whatever the fuck happened before kicks in again. When he sneezes, it blows away what's left of Bucky.

IS PUT IT BACK TOGETHER

Michael blinks around at the hotel- how'd he get back here? He doesn't remember when he came, but he also doesn't remember getting dressed. There's some girl crying next to him, and he watches uncomfortably- he has sisters, which is _exactly_ why he doesn't deal with crying women.

Someone runs into him, and he turns to see a little kid staring up at him, bewildered. The kid's face scrunches up, and Michael thinks _please don't cry, please don't cry._

The kid doesn't cry.

He does something worse.

_Much_ worse.

"_STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!"_ The little shit hollers at the top of his lungs, and _damn_ that kid's got a windpipe- the kid lashes out, and if Michael hadn't seen it coming he'd be crumpled up on the floor already, but he's stepped _way_ back.

He wants _no_ part of this.

The crying girl has stopped crying, and crouches down by the kid to get his attention.

"Hey," she pushes a strand of her straight brown hair out of her face to reveal her blotchy skin and red eyes. "What's your name?"

The kid stops screaming- the crowd around them is growing even thicker again, same as the first time- and looks at the girl.

"My mom told me not to talk to strangers." He says doubtfully.

The girl laughs weakly and says, "Well, _my_ mom told me that I should make some friends. Can you tell me your mom and dad's names?"

"No need for that," someone says, and Michael looks up to see the palest dude he's ever seen walking over. "Hello, Oliver."

"How do you know my name?" The kid asks suspiciously, taking a step closer to the girl.

"I'm Harry, the manager of this hotel; I know lots of people." The guy says, smiling. A quick glance at his gleaming nametag confirms that yes, this man is Harry Potter. Whoever that is.

Oliver glares. "That's not a real answer."

One point to the short-stack.

"Sure it is," the manager says cheerfully, "It's just not one that's very helpful. But fine, I know because I'm magic."

_And he's got an iron-clad comeback!_ Michael inwardly narrarates, chuckling when the manager beams and boops the demon-child's nose.

"Magic's not real!" Oliver growls, swatting the manager's hand away.

"Is, too," The manager says brattily, sticking his nose up in the air and crossing his arms. "I know because _I'm_ magic. My mummy told me so- just kidding, it was a half-giant with a birthday cake."

The kid seems stumped, and Michael gives the win to the manager, who pulls a notebook and a pen out of his pocket.

"Here, I'll prove it to you. I'm giving you my autograph, and when you get back home you can show it to your Aunt Hermione. I bet you ten quid she starts crying."

The kid nods and takes the paper happily, and seems content to allow the manager to guide him to the entrance, where the manager leans down to look Oliver in the eye.

"Can you pass a message along for me?"

Oliver nods, and the manager's face breaks into the biggest, most shit-eating grin that Michael has ever _seen_. He wonders what the hell this guy did to make him grin like that.

"I need you to have her tell Ron Weasley that I was the one who hired the gnomes while we were at the Academy."

Oliver looks confused, but nods anyway, and then the manager is ushering them through the entryway along with just about everyone else. Michael tries to turn around and ask what the hell that was about, but he can't- there's something urging him forward, and once he's passed through the door everything just- dissolves.

Later, after much contemplation, he decides he's never touching drugs again. Not without a dealer he trusts, anyway.

AND HOPE THAT FFN WILL

Harry sighs as the last of the guests leaves, wondering how long it will take for them to start flooding right back in to clutter up his lobby. It isn't natural- this many people shouldn't be dying right now; especially not people who for the most part are supposed to live long lives.

"Sir?" He turns to look at the young man who's brought him a fresh cup of coffee and a thick stack of papers barely contained within a manila folder. "We've finally managed to find the source of the chaos."

"That's what I like to hear," Harry grins, snagging the mug and gulping it down. It's so hot he burns half the skin in his mouth and he won't taste anything until he bothers to heal it, but he doesn't care. He _needs_ the caffeine- even if it comes in the awful, acrid, American form. Tea just doesn't have the same kick to it.

"What the hell is going on?"

The young man holds out the file, trading it for the now-empty mug, with a grimace. "Someone called Thanos, apparently. Unfortunately, it seems that he's been the source of a number of disturbances over the years."

"Really, now?" Harry murmurs, more to himself than to the aid. Thanos, it seemed, was trying to get his attention. Now, he has it.

Harry smiles grimly to himself as he snaps the folder shut, smiling stiffly at the kid next to him. "Good work. I'll take care of this- you reroute the people who come in. We're closed for the day, understood?"

"But-" The kid thinks better of whatever he was about to say, and instead nods jerkily and scurries away to do something with the cup.

Harry takes a moment to consider the kid's reaction- is he really that scary when he's pissed? Another moment's thought and a glance around the lobby confirm that yes, he is quite frightening.

ACCEPT MY LINE BREAKS

Harry doesn't so much arrive on Earth as he does materialize there. In a lot of ways, he's never really _left_, after all.

His mind is wandering. He has to pull it back and focus, but it's difficult- there are still people swarming into the Hotel, and it feels like a particularly nasty itch.

The physical realm at the origin of the whole bruhaha is filled with chaos. People are falling apart and screaming and crying; some are simply watching, numb to it after so many repetitions. A number of people are throwing themselves at a purple giant, being thrown back or slain, recovering, and attacking once more.

The air is warm but dry, tainted with the taste of blood. It soaks the ground beneath his feet.

If Harry had more energy, he might bother pretending to be reasonable.

(Spoiler: He doesn't)

He takes a moment to gather the death in the air, drawing the sensation of _death, despair, empty_ to him until it's so thick he can taste it like char on his tongue, and takes a breath.

"_WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!_" He roars, stalking up to the purple monster. He uses the term not because he's not human, but because the bastard has- repeatedly- killed billions in the space of a breath.

The people currently throwing themselves at the purple giant, including the _green_ giant- and why were there so many giants, anyways?- falter, uncertainty coating their features.

"And who are you?" The purple giant intones scornfully, "Another pest come to buzz ineffectually? No one can stop me!"

"You didn't answer my question. What the _bloody_ hell do you think you're doing?" Harry glares at him, and he falters for the slightest of moments. Harry almost smirks.

"Balancing the universe, foolish mortal!" The purple guy crows, "And in the same move, I court Death. Behold my gift to her!"

Harry is honestly speechless for a moment, his mind gone blank with all the _what the __fuck_that the giant's statement invokes. He laughs, long and loud, before the humor fades along with his smile.

"Astounding," he says at last, "Everything you just said was wrong. I mean, literally- there wasn't a single _bloody_ thing that you just said that was accurate."

The onlookers exchange questioning glances, but they all seem lost.

"And who are you to say such things?" The giant laughs arrogantly.

"I think I'm rather insulted," Harry says, crossing his arms. "I mean, you've put in so much effort to attract my attention and now that I'm here you clearly don't like me for my personality."

"You claim to be Death?" the monster asks.

"Of course not," Harry snorts, "That's ridiculous. Death is my _realm_."

The monster stares at him for a moment longer before he sneers viciously and clenches his hand, coated in a shining gauntlet embedded with glowing gems.

Harry lifts an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, was something supposed to happen?"

The monster growls and clenches his fist again. People around them crumple to dust, barely enough time for surprise and alarm to flicker across their faces; Harry scowls harder.

"Oh, bloody- are you kidding me? Knock it off already. These poor souls don't need this and they don't have reservations, so stop trying already."

It takes a brief moment for the people to reform, several of them looking around in confusion.

"You're-"

"Sick of the havoc you're wreaking on my realm. I'm going to be fixing this mess for an irritatingly long time, so I can't have you making it any worse, now can I? Not to mention the problems you've caused in the past." Harry pauses, looking at the gauntlet, and makes a gesture. The hand inside it withers and dies, the gauntlet dropping to the ground to leave the monster without his power.

"No!" The monster roars furiously. He launches himself at Harry, who doesn't hesitate to decimate most of the cells in the creature's body, leaving him weak and panting. He has had _enough_.

"What- what did- you do?" He gasps between breaths, clutching his chest. He is emaciated, a shadow of his former self.

"Left you weak. You look down on the powerless; now it's your turn to fill that role," Harry says icily. "You think death achieves balance in the universe? Only when tempered with life."

He walks forward and smiles mockingly, "You made a rather grievous error when you decided to harass me. Now you're going to live out your life at the mercy of others, unable to kill and unable to _be_ killed."

All humor leaves his face and Harry's voice when he speaks again is filled with all the authority of the Master of Death.

"YOU WILL BE SENTENCED TO AN ETERNAL LIFE, WITH NO POWER TO HARM ANY LIVING BEING. FOR UPSETTING THE BALANCE, YOU WILL BE POWERLESS. I BANISH YOU."

"What?" The monster, now weak, cries.

"You heard me." Harry smiles thinly.

He turns away, ignoring the monster's cries of protest, and glances sparingly at the men and women gathered around. One man in particular catches his eye and he nods politely at the tall blonde. "Good day, Steve. I'll have your room prepared again when you return."

He pauses and turns to the red-haired woman and and gives a polite nod. "I do appreciate your recommendations, particularly now that you temper them with discretion. Good day."

He fades away, tired of dealing with these mortals and their idiotic problems.

LEMME KNOW IF I MISSED ONE, YEAH?

**I almost didn't put this in- this is meant to be a crack fic, after all- but y'all should know by now that I'm no good at keeping this crap light. So here are some feels for you. **

_Omake 1_

Harry is on his way out of the lobby when he notices a slumped form sitting in the corner; his lips purse of their own accord.

Why is it so difficult to get people out? His compulsion should have had these people walking right out the door without looking back, but there were always people who stopped to question him. It was quite irritating.

He sighs to himself and runs a hand through his dark hair, striding over to whoever it is that has curled up in a corner.

His footsteps falter as he takes in the shock of bright red hair on top of the man's head- unkempt and dirty, and it has lost some of it's sheen, but…

Harry cannot bring himself to simply throw George out the way he did everyone else.

"It's been quite a while since I've seen a Weasley," He says softly. The man looks up slowly, and Harry is startled to see how much George has aged.

He looks tired and half dead, listless against the wall. It takes George a long moment to recognize him, and no wonder. It has been years since Harry has entered the realm of the Living, and at the end of his time there he had been obsessed with getting rid of the Hallows.

It hadn't worked, but he'd gotten some wicked scars out of the experience.

"Harry?" George asks, finally, his eyebrows drawing together. "You're dead."

Harry holds up a hand and waggles it a bit- it's not _wrong_, per se, but- well, it's not right, either. He's not dead _or_ alive; he just _is_.

"Mostly, yeah," is what he finally settles on. "Why haven't you gone back, yet?"

George stares at him for a long moment. "…Dunno. Why's it matter?"

"It's not your time." Harry sighs softly and sits down beside his old friend, wishing he didn't have to have this conversation with someone who'd once been so lively. "If it were, I'd let you stay, but- well. You've got a while yet up there."

"What do you mean?" George asks, looking at him quizzically. His brown eyes are clouded and tired, and Harry wishes more than anything he could take that- _emptiness_\- away. Harry has been empty before; he tries not to dwell on that time.

"I mean that there are rules to the afterlife. You don't get to come and stick around before it's your time."

George says nothing, and they sit there in weary silence.

"Is Fred here?" He asks, after a while.

Harry nods. "Yeah."

"He doing all right?"

"Yeah. I check in on him when I can."

"Thanks."

Harry nods his acknowledgement, and George smiles weakly. They sit there for another several minutes. "I'm going to call Fred down for you. You won't be able to talk for very long, but… I think it'll help.

"Yeah," the blankness has receded from George's voice a little- he sounds a little more alive, now. Good.

"Take care of yourself, George." Harry says, and stands. He can't stay any longer- he needs to confront the bastard who killed half the galaxy's inhabitants and then deal with the backlash from all the death.

Being Master of Death is really not worth it, Harry thinks as he walks out the hotel doors.

_Omake 2_

"Am I being punished?" He asks, staring blankly at the gleaming lobby before him. It's nice- gorgeous, actually- but it's clearly a hotel, and he's wearing a uniform. "I thought I was finally done."

"Hmm?"

He turns to see a young man peering at him through thick, round glasses. The young man blinks and laughs, patting him on the shoulder. "Not at all! I just admire your work. I'd like you to continue here. Think of it as a promotion."

"And _how_ is this a promotion?" Marion gapes at the young man in horror.

"Mmm, you'll get nicer rooms for one thing. For another, you won't get the one next to the ice machine."

The young man smiles. It's not a very nice smile.

Then he claps his hands and is utterly genial again, putting one hand on Marion's shoulder to steer him forward to the front desk.

"Now, we have a complex chain of hotels set up to satisfy all of our customers, who can choose to go to one that is either designated for their birthplace, chosen residence, or religion. I'm not putting you in charge of anything too far out of your comfort zone, of course- you won't be getting any other planet, so don't worry about that."

"_Planet_?" Marion squawks, horrified. He knew that aliens were real- who wouldn't after 2012- but he'd never thought about the metaphysical implications of it before.

It dawns on him slowly.

The _twins!_

"No," The young man sighs, "The twins are fully human, I assure you. Anyway, I've given you a familiar location until you get a handle on the job. Once you're comfortable here, you can request a transfer to another hotel."

"I assure you, I will _never_ be comfortable here," Marion insists. His baleful stare does nothing to the young man, who simply shrugs mildly.

"Very well. I'll leave you to it, Mr. Moseby."

Harry is exceedingly pleased with his new manager: a competent, loyal employee with many years of experience already under his belt. A dependable man who understands how important customer service is.

Okay, fine, he'll admit it. Customer service is _not_ the reason Harry hired this guy: he did it because it's _hilarious_. He needs something to laugh at, and he really _did_ need a good manager for this place- he can't do it on his own _all_ the time. Minions are as important as customer service.

"So how long do you think he'll last?"

Harry grins at Fred. "Oh, not long. Especially not when he finds out that those kids' great-uncles were just as mad as they are."

The faint sound of furious shouting reaches their ears. "_NO RUNNING IN MY LOBBY!_"

Harry grins.


End file.
